[b] Level 72, reception area [/b] Zach was left wide eyed and mouth ajar within the femme squirrel's embrace. Mind unwilling, soul remained. Quickly gritting his teeth and narrowing his eyebrows impetuously, his synaptic impulses told him to reach out and snap the squirrel’s neck in half; like a withered twig. Before he was able to pursue his animal instinct- he almost tumbled over as the squirrel spun and slipped away with excitement. As he flailed ridiculously, he reached out for something to steady himself! The nearest entity he was able to grasp was the fire extinguisher. Strongly secured by bracing on the wall. With that action, his knees barely buckled before he was able to hoist himself back up again. Flicking his head back to get the long silver hair out of his eyes. He continued to steady himself upon the halon containing steel canister. Feeling the cold steel beneath his finger tips as the rage burnt from within. She was a problem. Too much free reign, non compliant, unrealistic, ditzy... What was worse, Zach had smelt a rat since the worker girl stepped through with a dainty foot in this building. Almost like she was masquerading the joint like a ballroom dancer- but why exactly had she attended? This workplace was hardly meant for a dance, or fun for that matter! Furthermore, he was outright offended on so many levels. ‘Zachy...?!’ Earning the title of a pet name was a punishment that deserved open fire on the spot, Maynard thought with a growl. Surely, she was having a laugh? The incredulity of the incident was outrageous. Did she not grasp the serious nature of being beckoned to the Director’s office in any of its entirety at all? “Childish Mink,” he breathed out, exasperated. Naturally he could chase her down. Wipe that pathetic smile off her face. For he was well equipped with pharmaceuticals far more powerful than what he possessed in pill form. He drummed his fingers upon a loaded cartridge secured within his belt. Gritting his teeth as he tried to process his next action. Or, there was another way. He was waiting for that moment. Waiting for an excuse. To initiate [b]that[/b] process. He was shaking. Grasping onto the canister that began to make it rattle somewhat. The former background piano music continued to prove itself relinquished. He turned a cold shoulder to the entrance of the office, and directed his fraught face towards his desk. Eyes set on his computer, where he could ‘initiate the process’. “Zacharias Maynard.” A cold voice called out from behind “not yet.” _______________________________________________________________________________________________ [b]Level 72, Office [/b] [i]Camera on[/i] Xell blinked morbidly at the events that unravelled before him. It was certainly out of the ordinary compared to what one would anticipate as a typical workforce day. The usual regime of a dreary commute, a cocktail of pill swallowing and coal face typing for 9 hours straight became replaced by some form of life. Namely, his bashful colleague requesting if he could use his computer to render high resolution artwork. The arrival of the smutty fennec who he had recognised from an X-rated photo, and now Crispin. Who he had spoken to once or twice in the past at best. He may have had more opportunities had he been a regular at the Office but somehow, Xell didn’t think that that was quite the case. For some reason. "Whew! Gottem all. Oh! Sorry guys. Don't uh, don't mind me. Lizzy here just bein' an asshole n' scaring me. Pretend you didn't see me." “Gottem?” Xell queried. The dragon shoved his hands in his pockets whilst he looked to the floors and desks. He had to be talking about some belongings he dropped on the floor right? Maybe a pen, pencil… wallet? And why did he make such a snide remark about the Lizard? “Oh right, well whatever you retrieved, glad you found it…” Xell grinned sheepishly. A bead of sweat running down his face as he remembered his own careless grasp less than a few minutes ago. He was banking on Rey carrying out his task post haste. Then he could retrieve his pills and stash them away. But then that femme showed up, who Rey was yet to acknowledge. And Crispin. Was he a chef? A cat chef? Xell winced as he found it extremely difficult to keep his thoughts on a consistent tangent. Suffering from concentration problems and anxiety, he needed his dexamphetamines. More so to overcome the garbage he had been dispensed by Zach earlier. What where they? Tranquilisers? Anti depressants? Benzodiazepenes? After all, blue normally means a come down or suppressant. A means to coax a patient into a situation they would question or wouldn't normally accept. Red or orange one may associated with a stimulant? Seize the day, live life to the maximum. Determination to press on or unravel the truth... right? Xell was strictly told to take what he was given. Never to mix his poisons. But.... “Hey sweets… do you wanna pull that pose again? Sure tickled my fancy!” a random voice hollered. Causing an entire row to erupt in laughter. Daring glances with a snigger directed towards Athena, whilst gossip travelled like wildfire. “Pays the bills,” Athena held her own. Paying no mind to the obnoxious crown as she waved a dismissive hand. “Excuse me… I really… really need to find something…” Xell was getting anxious. He looked around frantically, before pacing up and down the cubicle. Athena sullen and bored by the whole display. Before the grey dragon could utter another sentence, he couldn’t help but stare as he recognised a pill about to be swallowed by the Ocelot who swung by earlier. One of HIS pills. Orange looking paracetomol like pill with a pink grainy texture. His Adderall! “Noooooooo….” Xell leapt in the air, hand wound backwards as he was going to attempt to smack the pill out of Crispin’s mouth. _________________________________________________________________________________ [b]Level 72, Reception [/b] “Hmmm... I thought that may be you...” Zach was kneeled down on the ground in resentment. Having lost his cool as a phantom like presence presumably had witnessed all. “Well, where else would I be?” The voice replied, a borderline suave but serious tone about it. A plumage of silver hair draped Zach’s face, casting his eyes in shadow just above a gritted expression on his mussel. “I don’t want to play this game anymore.” The dog rose swiftly. The urge to storm out of the building a rightful retribution in his mind. [i]Go, don’t stand in contemplation[/i] The thought passed Zach’s mind. Maynard froze. Eyes amped with constricted pupils. An assembly of shadowy men immersed from the surroundings. Goosebumps started to streak through his skin as his fur stood on edge. The figures had cloaked, scarves up to the orbital floors of their faces which acted as a platform for their thick black shades. Human in appearance, xenomorphic in aura. “...They’re not real,” the dog uttered with contempt. “Oh AREN’T they?” The voice mocked. Tone beckoning the assembly to step forward. Menacing facades gradually closing in upon Zach and the entity behind him. As they emerged, cracking could be heard from tasers they were holding up. A sweat drop pooled off of Zach’s face and splashed onto the floor. His body hot but beginning to precipitate a cold sweat. “Am I supposed to believe that just because you got knocked off your perch, that you’re going to dwell on the floor with the barrel of a gun in your face?” The figure sneered, immediately replaced by a grin. Performing a quick shot imitation with his middle and index finger that aimed in Zach’s direction. “... that’s what they do to sterile chickens.” Zach gave two very slow nods. A gesture of acknowledgement and disgust to conceal his defeat. His knuckles tightened on either side of his body. A slight turn with the aid of peripheral vision revealed the reckoning standing behind him. A tall coral figure emanating a supernatural aura. He had long perked vampiric like ears with a suave, dark cerulean parted hairstyle that framed his clean cut face. He doned a set of nature defying toxic green eyes. Irises echoing a sinister sense of arrogance and need to play cat and mouse. His demeanour and attire, clad in a leather jacket and jeans suggested his style to be very similar to the 1950s era. Zach inadvertently shrunk as he forced himself to turn around to look at him. Like ripping a band aid off an unhealed wound. The creature’s aura was oppressive. Zach could not even hear the harmonious splashes of the waterfalls anymore. Instead, a monotoned drone that weighed down the atmosphere. “Aleksei?” The creature snapped his right set of fingers. A flare igniting which he conveniently used to light up a cigarette. Taking a long drag, before exhaling fumes that rapidly started to smog the vicinity. “I think you and I should watch the 'flagged ones' on camera. Don't you?" the devil asked "the Director would love to know their names."